Through the open window she held out a tiny hand. “I hope you will come and see me,” she said.
“Yes, I come,” said Achilles, simply. “I like to come.”
James dropped a waiting eye.
“Home, James.”
The horses sprang away. Achilles Alexandrakis, bareheaded in the spring sunshine, watched the carriage till it was out of sight. Then he turned once more to the stall and rearranged the fruit. The swift fingers laughed a little as they worked, and the eyes of Achilles were filled with light.
III
BETTY’S MOTHER HEARS A STORY
“Mother-dear!” It was the voice of Betty Harris—eager, triumphant, with a little laugh running through it. “Mother-dear!”
“Yes—Betty—” The woman seated at the dark mahogany desk looked up, a little line between her eyes. “You have come, child?” It was half a caress. She put out an absent hand, drawing the child toward her while she finished her note.